Three hard raps at her door startled her to her feet. Breathing too hard, she went to the door and peeked out the sidelight window. Relieved to see Drake, she let out a pent-up breath, only to stifle it again when he lifted his face and she saw tension written in the creases around his eyes and the telltale dimple in his cheek. She opened the door, and he barreled in, bringing a gust of tension with him. He carried a bag in one hand and a bundle of flat boxes in the other.
"You send that to the guys, and I'll send this to the girls." He set the flat boxes against the wall and handed her his phone.
She glanced at the picture he'd taken at Undercover a few weeks ago. She was sticking her tongue out and shoving her finger into her mouth, like she was gagging. In the background Rick and Desiree, Matt and Mira, and Dean and Emery were slow dancing and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. "You wouldn't dare!"
Drake's deep laugh wound around her. "Bet they'd love seeing your reaction to their kissy-kissy-lovey-dovey dance." He set the bag on the coffee table.
She looked at the picture again, unable to stop smiling. "I'll tell them I was making the face at you, not because of them."
"Yeah, they'd believe that." He grabbed his phone and pocketed it. His gaze drifted around the room, landing on the single box she'd begun packing. "Wow. You're really making a dent in packing, huh?" He picked up the bottle of wine and cocked a smile. "Serena's little helper? Is it that bad?"
She groaned. "I hate packing as much as I hate grocery shopping. Thanks for bringing boxes. I set an alarm on my phone for noon tomorrow so I wouldn't forget to pick some up. I totally flaked on picking them up before shopping, and then I was tied up too late with the girls."
Drake smirked, his eyes darkening.
She realized what she'd said and rolled her eyes. "Not that kind of tied up. Although, you never did finish telling me about your dirty deeds, Mr. Grey."
"I'll plead the Fifth on that one." He reached into the bag he brought and withdrew a half gallon of milk.
She squealed, pleasantly distracted from her dirty thoughts. "Thank you! How did you know I needed milk?"
"You always need milk. Besides, I figured you'd need it with these." He pulled out a package of snickerdoodles from Because We Can bakery, which was open 24/7.
"I love you!" She snagged the cookies and headed into the kitchen. "I take back everything bad I have ever said about you."
"You've said bad stuff about me?" he asked as she took two cups down from the cabinet.
She gave him a deadpan look and poured the milk. "Do you need a list?" She handed him a cup and said, "I called you a pain right before you arrived. Or, to be more accurate, a big pain."
"Ouch." He gave her a cookie and took one for himself. "I guess that's only fair. I called you stubborn."
She touched her glass to his. "A toast to big stubborn pains and snickerdoodles." She lifted the glass to her lips.
"You are the only person I know who can drink milk after wine and not get sick."
"I've got mad cookies-and-milk skills. What can I say?" She waggled her brows and bit into the cookie. "Mm. This is just what I needed. The perfect dinner."
"You didn't eat dinner?" He pulled out his phone. "I'm ordering us a pizza. You figure out where we should start packing."
"Drake, you don't have to-"
He stepped closer, his body brushing against hers. She felt her body heating up. That was new-and nerve-racking. Her body hadn't responded to him like that in years.
She glanced up at his authoritative expression, and she knew arguing with him would get her nowhere. Given the way her body was suddenly all lit up inside, she also worried their bickering might further confuse her lonely hormones. Maybe she needed to push finding a man to the top of her to-do list when she got to Boston after all.
"You're so good to me," she finally managed.
The edges of his lips curved into the smile she'd fallen head over heels for all those years ago, and he said, "Someone's got to be."
Her own mother had ignored her enough for her to know that wasn't true. Nothing was a given in this life, especially being cared for.
"That's what friends do, Serena," he said, once again reminding her where she was firmly slated in his mind.
She stepped back, putting space between them and reminding herself how foolish she was being. It was like ninth grade all over again. "Well, that's not really true, but I'm glad you are."
He set that concerned stare on her again. "You're easy to be good to, Supergirl. Don't ever let anyone make you think otherwise."
That made her feel all kinds of good, and also a little awkward. They were still standing in her kitchen, and she couldn't drag her eyes away from his.
"We've been so busy," he said, breaking the silence, "I haven't had time to ask if you've found a place to live in Boston or if you need help moving."
"Thanks, but I'm keeping the lease on my cottage until it ends in October so I can come back and help with the music store and see everyone. KHB owns a block of furnished apartments walking distance from the office. They let their first-year employees use them at a reduced rental rate, so there's no heavy moving. I should be all set with just a few suitcases and boxes."
He nodded, looking a little disappointed, and said, "Good. I'm glad you're all set, but if you need help, just let me know. Day or night, whatever you need, you know I'm here."
Why did she feel like she might cry? "What will I do without a friend like you in Boston?"
A genuine smile crawled across his face, stealing most of the disappointment from his eyes. "Throw yourself into your career so you can shoot to the top of your field. I want that for you, you know."
Her chest filled with love for him. Not hot-and-bothered take-me-now lust, but deep-seated, fill-her-heart-up love for the man who understood her, liked her despite her faults, and had always supported her decisions. Even when she wasn't sure if she could pull something off, he always pushed her to try. He may have blown off her romantic notions all those years ago, but look where they were now. She wouldn't trade this for the world.
He grabbed the box of cookies, slung an arm over her shoulder, and headed for the living room. "And come back on the weekends, of course, so I have my partner in crime to hang out with."
WHEN THE PIZZA came, they polished it off, along with half the cookies, while they packed Serena's movies and books, reminiscing about old times and talking about her new job. She had never been one of those girls who was always on a diet. It was just one of the many things that set her apart from most of the women Drake knew. He glanced at her, sitting with her back against the couch, knees pulled up despite the miniskirt she wore, which bunched around her thighs as she flipped through an old yearbook. One bare foot rested on the other, her toenails painted a pretty shade of pink. A flash of memory sailed into his mind from when they were young, when she and Mira would paint each other's toenails in his parents' living room. They'd sit on the floor facing each other, painting with tiny sparkly nail polish brushes while they talked about who knew what. Something that made them giggle a lot-he remembered that. After they finished their nails, they'd do their hair and then insist he and Rick watch their silly fashion shows. That was a hundred years ago, and he remembered it as clearly as if it had just happened. Back then Serena's eyes had seemed too big for her face, her lips too full, like she'd accidentally been given an adult's features. But the beauty gods sure knew what they were doing, because by the time she was a teenager, she was flat-out stunning. As a guy filled with too much testosterone, that had proven problematic when they'd go to the beach and Serena would wear one of her skimpy bikinis. Drake had spent much of those early summers waist deep in the frigid sea.
"Drake, look at this." Serena's voice pulled him from his memories.
He moved beside her against the couch. "Is that your senior year?"
"Mm-hm. This is the guy I went to prom with, Rod McDale." She pointed to a guy with longish hair like Drake's. He had on a Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, and he was leaning over a keyboard.
Drake's gut clenched.
"I saved every penny I earned for a whole year to afford the dress I wanted." She flipped a few pages to the part of the yearbook that featured pictures from prom.
His eyes were immediately drawn to a photograph of a group of girls standing arm in arm, wearing bright, sparkly dresses, but all he saw was Serena's beautiful face, caught midlaugh as Mira and whoever the girl was on her other side kissed her cheeks. Serena wore her hair pinned up, with side-swept bangs, and her cheeks were flushed. The yellow halter-top dress with a thread of gold beneath her breasts might have looked simple on anyone else, but on Serena it looked elegant. On her wrist she wore a corsage of white roses, and a strange beat of jealousy pulsed through him.